The silence is too loud—louder than the memories that bury him, the rain that drowns him, and the doubts that plague him. His wrinkled fingers tremble, not just from the biting wind but from apprehension. Liam hasn't been here since he was the age of his surviving nephew, but he knows this town like the back of his hand. It was home—until it no longer could be. It doesn't take his experience to know that the town has seen too much tragedy. The grief is etched in every stone beneath his booted feet. It is there in every tile on the roofs, and in every dead lamp that lines the pathways. His footfalls barely shatter the uncanny tranquility that shrouds the town. The ghost-like silence would have scared him once, but not anymore. Not since that day.

"Liam?"

He nods, shoulders sagging in relief. "I thought I might find you here." There is a hint of joy behind the pain that glosses his eyes.

"Liam... I don't understand. You came... looking for me? After all these years? Why?"

Her confusion is understandable. A haggardly old woman whose hair was pulled at beyond redemption, she was hardly a sight to look forward to. Her bloodshot eyes and tattered cloak scared the living. He hadn't seen her before, but now that his time was fast approaching, he could see the sister he had lost even before he knew her."Yes." He swallows thickly before looking back at the woman who sits by the willow. "They know I won't be going back. You know it too, don't you?" A long pause. Bláthnaid, I... I want to be with them again. Will you... come with me?"

"I've seen it, yes, but I cannot watch it happen. Not again." Her gravelly voice is pleading, but she knows there is no way to avoid the future. She has spent centuries running from it, knowing she will never succeed in doing so. She does not have the courage to see a loved one die, but she will not deny her brother. She couldn't in life; she wouldn't in death. "Come with me."

Hefting the rusty shovel in hand, Liam follows her lead as she walks back into town. The rain has ceased, and his sister almost floats over the little puddles in the cobblestones. They find themselves on barren land, but it isn't empty. It is a cemetery, almost as large as half the town itself. He turns to the old woman next to him, almost asking her to lead once again. "You know," she simply states, making him pause mid-step. He knew all along that she was a banshee—ever since the day he had heard her in the forest all those years ago—but he had refused to believe it. His sister had known that, yet she'd said nothing when they parted. He had blamed her when his wife died, but now, he could no longer deny who she was. It was time to make things right before she mourned for him.

"Yes."

"He told you?"

"No, sister-mine, but I don't blame you anymore. You could have helped it no more than you can help me now," comes his resigned declaration. "I cannot read anything. The moon isn't enough. Can you lead me to her? To Aoife?"

Liam could have sworn he saw her eyes well with tears once more, but she moves before he can dwell on it. The Great Irish Famine, as the world now called it, was not easy on either of them. He lost his daughter and a recently reunited nephew. He'd never known what the two of them meant to her, but he could now see she was hurting too. The town had lost over half its people. Those who survived movies out—away from every reminder of the blight that had stolen a part of them. The graves hadn't been cared for at all. Many don't even have headstones, but a few of them do. When he reaches the simple grave that he's been led to, he falls to his knees, all semblance of composure withering away. He tenderly wipes the dust off the headstone. "My little child," he whispers. Aoife, the headstone reads. Slowly, in the damp mud, Liam traces his own name. What remained of him after Aine's death had died the day Aoife succumbed to her illness. Well, he thinks, at least my journey has come to an end now.

For the next few hours, late into the night until the moon was at its peak, Liam toils, digging deeper into the ground. His limbs scream in protest at the exertion and sweat lines his brow, but he doesn't stop until the grave is ready. Drawing a small lamp from his pocket, he lights it near the headstone before walking to the six feet pit that awaits him. "I am coming back to you, little one," he murmurs to the lamp before setting it down. It is time to meet his deceased family once more. Liam can feel his sister's broken glance trail his every action. He hates to see such raw pain on her sunken face, but this would be his one last chance to find the peace that had evaded him throughout his life. His eyes feeling heavier by the moment, his breath coming quicker and shorter, he calls out his final request. "Will you sing for me... one last time?"

"Over in Killarney, many years ago my mother sang this song to me in tones so sweet and low..."

The lamp flickers like a dying star. It sparks once, twice, before ceasing entirely, sniffed out like the life that had lit it. A heart-wrenching wail breaks the stillness over Dowra as the banshee mourns her loss. Some say the graves weep with her, but they are wrong. It isn't the graves that weep. It's the grave—the one in her unbeating heart—where their memory will forever haunt her, just as she haunts the living.